Neither brisk advice from a podiatrist, nor wistful regret, as in Oh, I Wish I’d Looked After Me Teeth, by UK poet Pam Ayres, this first non-fiction work by Ham, an acclaimed Australian novelist, is pure delight.
She makes keen, and sometimes cutting, observations on getting old, its unexpected advantages, and sometimes its indignities.
Readers of her novels, such as The Dressmaker, will be familiar with some of the older women she has portrayed in those works, each a formidable character.
Partly a memoir of growing up in the country town of Jerilderie, NSW, a varied career including several stints working in aged care, adventurous travel, marriage and children, Ham’s latest work demonstrates a well-developed sense of humour and irony.
She makes a good point that in a country town, everyone keeps an eye on everyone else, and that means forming an opinion but saying nothing. Or something.
Now that Ham is herself older and had cared for her ageing parents and a terminally ill husband, she has a clear-eyed vision of what ‘care’ should be, and she generally does not worry about what people think of her.
But she has a low tolerance for ute drivers (and devotes a whole chapter to that), as well as entitled people and those lacking generosity, but she knows how to turn away and use them in a story.
Ham does not flinch from detailing the ailments with which she and her friends now grapple, but is realistic enough to be grateful for accurate diagnoses and advanced treatments, surgeries and spare parts.
With chapters interspersed with quotes from some of her novels, Ham meditates on the lost art of conversation, particularly in noisy restaurants, and her joy that a similarly aged group of women all admit that wine and cheese is a perfectly acceptable evening meal.
Reviewed by Jennifer Somerville
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